


From Top to Bottom

by abstractconcept



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Foot Fetish, M/M, Silver Pair, Smut, Topping from the Bottom, bossiness, bossy bottom, bottom!Shishido
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 07:49:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10271792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: In which Shishido is bossy and Choutarou likes it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I found something I never imported!  
> Note: With thanks to littleblackbow for her help.  
> This fic is total smut. Post-series, all-grown-up Shishido and Choutarou sharing an apartment.

Shishido tossed his backpack on the floor with a grunt. He took off his hat and scratched his head, mussing his scruffy brown hair. Choutarou wasn’t home yet. So much for dinner being ready, then, even if dinner was usually take-out or whatever simple dish Choutarou could throw together.  
  
Shishido dropped onto the couch, wishing they could afford a television. No Choutarou, no dinner, no TV. Totally lame.  
  
He kicked his feet up on the coffee table, pushing aside an old bowl of ramen with his tennis shoe. He’d had a horrible day. He’d completely blown a history test—history! Who needed it?—and then he’d been late for his part time job, and then it had rained, and Choutarou called him on his cell and told him practice was cancelled, because of the thunder and lightning and all.  
  
Seriously, seriously lame.  
  
Just a few years ago it wouldn’t have mattered; they’d have practiced no matter what. But now they both had tons of schoolwork and even jobs, and they had to pay for the stupid apartment all by themselves, because none of their parents had been happy to find out their sons were gay and planning to live together.  
  
Not that it mattered; being on different work schedules, Shishido never got laid anymore anyhow.  
  
He tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling. Oh, damn. There was a small, dark circle forming on the ceiling; the roof was leaking again. Even as he watched a drop of water swelled, shivered for a moment, suspended, then plummeted to the floor. He’d have to call the landlord again. Or make Choutarou do it.  
  
Shishido smiled. He really _could_ make Choutarou do it, because Choutarou did pretty much anything Shishido told him to do. Not exactly _anything_ , but pretty close. Choutarou didn’t even seem to mind. In fact, Shishido suspected his boyfriend kind of liked being bossed around—which suited Shishido just fine.  
  
The door opened and Shishido arranged his face into a scowl.  
  
“Oh, Shishido-san,” Choutarou said, sounding out of breath. “I’m glad you made it home all right in the rain.” He hardly even looked wet; his silvery hair was as neat as ever, his uniform neatly pressed.  
  
“Thought you’d work late,” Shishido said.  
  
Choutarou shrugged a little, cheeks pinking.  
  
_Missed me,_ Shishido thought smugly, but didn’t say anything. Instead, Shishido pointed the toe of his tennis shoe at the bowl of ramen. There was mold crawling up the side. “You should clean this place,” he grunted.  
  
“You’re right, Shishido-san.” Choutarou immediately scooped up the bowl and carried it into their small kitchen. “I haven’t had much time to keep up with the housework,” he commented.  
  
Shishido tried not to smile as Choutarou cleaned. There was something really hot about Choutarou being all domestic.  
  
“How was your day, Shishido-san?” Choutarou asked politely as he scrubbed.  
  
“Crap,” Shishido said bluntly. “Total crap.” He watched Ohtori clean, his long limbs graceful as he rinsed the bowl out. Shishido liked watching Ohtori move. He liked the way his arms reached, liked the way his shoulders moved beneath his shirt, liked the line of his hips as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Shishido licked his lips, “Bring me a soda,” he said.  
  
Choutarou did so immediately, even stopping right in the middle of rinsing the bowl. He slipped the cold can into Shishido’s hand with a sweet, subservient sort of smile.  
  
Shishido failed to suppress a grin. So they were playing _that_ game.  
  
“Poor Shishido-san,” Ohtori said with a sympathetic look. His big brown puppy-dog eyes were just _made_ for that expression. “I’m sorry you had such a rough day.”  
  
“Yeah. Get dinner started, would you? I’m starved.” Shishido watched hungrily as Choutarou switched gears, going to turn on the stove. Shishido slung his head back, gulping at the soda.  
  
“How was your test?” Choutarou questioned, bent over the stove. “Shishido-san? Shishido?”  
  
“Huh?” Shishido blinked away his bemusement.  
  
Choutarou turned with a half smile, his eyes warm with amusement. “Your test, Shishido-san,” he reminded gently.  
  
“Oh.” Shishido scowled and finished off his soda, crumpling the can. “Throw that away,” he said, tossing the can to Choutarou, who caught it deftly and placed it atop the slightly-overflowing trash bin. Shishido got up with a sigh and crossed to the bed. Since they had a studio apartment, he didn’t even have to leave the room, but Choutarou followed him anyway.  
  
“Shishido-san? Your exam?” he said, soft voice not quite nagging.  
  
“It sucked,” Shishido admitted. “Who the hell needs to know that sort of stuff, anyway?” He flopped out on his stomach. “Rub my back,” he added. “My neck’s stiff.”  
  
“All right,” Choutarou said agreeably, coming to sit beside Shishido. “I’m sure you did better than you think,” he added as Shishido began to melt under the loving ministrations of Choutarou’s callused hands. “You knew the material top to bottom.”  
  
“Mph. Who cares? Harder,” Shishido said, voice muffled from his pillow.  
  
Choutarou kneaded his shoulders. “I helped you study,” Choutarou reminded him. “I’m positive you did well.”  
  
Shishido shrugged, rucking up his shirt to pull it off. “Use the oil,” he suggested. “Anyway, I sort of choked. I hate books, anyway.”  
  
He turned his head to watch Choutarou reach for the nightstand, carefully tipping the container of oil to spill some into his palm. They were on a budget; he didn’t waste any by spilling. Then he applied his warm, slick hands to Shishido’s back. “You always get like this when there’s an exam,” Choutarou told him with affection coloring his voice. “And you always do just fine.”  
  
“That’s what you think,” Shishido grunted. He looked over his shoulder. “Give me a kiss,” he said in his most imperious voice.  
  
Choutarou’s lips did that funny twitch they did when he was trying not to laugh. “Yes, Shishido-san,” he replied obediently, his voice husky.  
  
Shishido let Choutarou kiss him, let him do all the work. He sighed into the sweet warmth of Choutarou’s mouth; nothing tasted better on a rainy day.  
  
When Choutarou finally broke the kiss, his brown eyes searching Shishido’s face for further instruction, Shishido rolled over onto his back. “Take your shoes off, dummy,” he said, after hunting a moment for something suitably bossy. “What are you trying to do, get mud on the bed?”  
  
The side of Choutarou’s mouth quirked up, soft and inviting and amused. They both knew perfectly well that Shishido didn’t care anything about keeping the sheets clean. When Choutarou bent to undo his laces, Shishido added, “You should take mine off, too.” He looked down at his tennis shoes. “Clean them first,” he added with sudden inspiration.  
  
Choutarou’s head snapped up at this, his eyes suddenly narrow and very, very hot. “Yes, Shishido-san,” he growled.  
  
Shishido flopped back against the pillows and watched as Choutarou hurriedly toed off his own shoes and went to get a dishcloth to wet for Shishido’s. They were only a little muddy, really; Shishido loved his shoes and took good care of them, and generally avoided puddles and dirt. Choutarou lifted one foot into his lap, lovingly wiping the specks of mud away. “Like that, Shishido-san?” he whispered.  
  
Shishido shivered, feeling something like the fuzz of electricity work its way up his spine. He smiled wickedly. “No, not like that,” he said. He llifted his foot to brush the toe of his shoe against Ohtori’s chin, and Ohtori’s eyes shut momentarily, his face pinking.  
  
For a long, uncertain moment, Shishido waited, not knowing for sure if Choutarou would do it or not. Even if Choutarou had a thing for Shishido being bossy, there were probably limits—Shishido just hadn’t found them yet.  
  
But then Choutarou nuzzed his foot, pressing a kiss to the top of Shishido’s shoe. Shishido could half-swear he felt the heat of Ohtori’s lips right through the rubber and fabric. Choutarou continued to press kisses to Shishido’s foot, lifting it higher, one hand cupping Shishido’s ankle.  
  
Shishido gazed on, mesmerized, as Choutarou worked his way up and down Shishido’s laces, flicking his tongue in between to prod the tongue of Shishido’s tennis shoe.  
  
Shishido nearly came straight off the bed at that.  
  
He’d never seen or felt anything so erotic, and they’d certainly had plenty of kinds of sex before, and it wasn’t like he could half feel anything through his shoe, anyhow.  
  
Choutarou paused a moment, then snaked a pink tongue out to slather over the toe of Shishido’s shoe. He took it into his mouth—just the toe, and sucked, his silvery eyebrows drawn in concentration.  
  
Shishido could feel the blood pounding in his ears, in his veins, throbbing through his body. “That’s enough,” he grunted.  
  
Choutarou merely smiled sweetly up at him and took his damn time undoing Shishido’s laces. He slipped Shishido’s shoes off and caressed his stocking feet. “Are you sure you don’t want a foot rub?” he asked innocently.  
  
Shishido yanked his feet away to tug his socks off, wad them up and throw them away. “I don’t need a foot rub,” he said.  
  
Choutarou took his ankles and pulled Shishido’s feet back into his lap anyway. “Are you sure? You’ve been so stressed.”  
  
The thumbs fondly probing the arch of Shishido’s foot were intimate in a way that was entirely unexpected, and Shishido found himself blushing just a little. “That’s not really helping me de-stress,” he muttered. He felt slightly out of control, something that annoyed him. He needed to get the upper hand again, needed to calm down. “Rub my back some more,” Shishido ordered, flopping over like a fish out of water.  
  
“Yes, Shishido-san,” Choutarou replied meekly, moving to comply. “Better?”  
  
Shishido smiled. “Keep rubbing,” he advised.  
  
Moaning softly, Shishido allowed his body to untense. There was nothing better than a Choutarou-applied back rub, unless . . . Shishido turned his head to his pillow again, hiding a wicked smile. “Lower,” he mumbled.  
  
Choutarou stroked the nape of Shishido’s neck. Even though he was taller than Shishido and probably didn’t have to reach much, he inched up, until he was straddling Shishido’s body.  
  
“Like this?” Choutarou’s voice was insubstantial, breathy and hoarse.  
  
“Mmm. Not good enough,” Shishido declared.  
  
Choutarou kissed his ear. “What can I do to make you feel good?” he purred.  
  
“Fuck me,” Shishido answered over his shoulder.  
  
Choutarou blinked.  
  
Shishido arched a brow. “ _Now_ ,” he growled, and Choutarou’s already absurdly large eyes fluttered wider, and then his fingers began fluttering over his shirt, undoing the buttons as he hurried to undress himself.  
  
Choutarou chewed his lip when he noticed Shishido was staring at him, but he didn’t stop—he didn’t dare. Soon his shirt was on the floor, and his pants were half undone, and then suddenly he seemed to realize that Shishido would have to be undressed, too, and he leaned over and kissed Shishido again as his hands grew clumsy trying to work Shishido’s zipper.  
  
Shishido didn’t mind; Choutarou’s mouth was hot and slick, and he could feel the heat of Choutarou’s hands through his jeans. “Hurry,” Shishido urged between kisses, and Choutarou struggled to work Shishido’s pants and underwear down.  
  
His hands were warm, rising again to stroke Shishido’s belly, to fondle him, long, gentle strokes like Choutarou just couldn’t believe Shishido was already turned on enough, damn it.  
  
Shishido pushed Choutarou back with one hand. “Fuck me, damn it,” he snarled.  
  
Choutarou stared for a moment, eyes hazy and uncomprehending, before lunging past Shishido to grab up the lube again, to rummage round in the nightstand and find a condom. Choutarou’s embarrassment made him hasty; he always tried to get everything done and lube himself up quickly, because he hated being the center of attention, but Shishido half-turned and stilled him with a hand on Choutarou’s arm.  
  
“Slower,” he ordered once Choutarou had the condom on, and Choutarou grimaced and nodded.  
  
Cheeks flushed red, Choutarou slowly, slowly stroked himself, covering his prick with lubricant. Shishido rested on one elbow, basking in the heat and ill-concealed pleasure blooming on Choutarou’s face. Choutarou’s slim chest quickened with breath; Shishido watched hungrily as Choutarou’s needy prick twitched in the circle of his palm.  
  
Shishido watched, open-mouthed, for as long as he could handle it before again snapping, “That’s enough. Fuck me now.” The word drew out desperately, and Shishido hoped he didn’t sound whiny.  
  
Choutarou didn’t seem to care; as Shishido braced himself, he slid one questing finger into Shishido’s body. “Choutarou, _forget that bit_ ,” Shishido ground out, exasperated. He didn’t need preparation; hell, he didn’t _want_ it. He wanted to be fucked hard and fast and _right this fucking instant_.  
  
Glancing over his shoulder, Shishido saw that Choutarou’s expression was doubtful, but Shishido was too impatient, too needy to care. Then, finally, _finally_ , Choutarou was slipping into him, stretching him, a hot lance of pleasure racing up Shishido’s spine.  
  
Choutarou paused when he was fully sheathed, and Shishido could feel him pulse inside Shishido’s body. “Good?” Choutarou asked anxiously.  
  
“More,” Shishido gulped. “More. Faster.”  
  
Choutarou began rocking his hips, hands circling Shishido’s waist to hold him in place.  
  
“Harder,” Shishido grunted. “Harder!”  
  
Choutarou obeyed, his breath coming quick and quivery. “Like that?” he asked, his voice higher than usual; he sounded desperate, desperate for this, desperate for release, desperate for Shishido’s approval.  
  
Shishido huffed, hardly able to answer. “Yes—that—” he managed.  
  
Choutarou undulated, his body contorting to fill Shishido. Shishido moaned loudly, bracing one hand on the bare wall at the head of the bed. The pace was brutal, wonderful.  
  
After an aching, arching, thumping eternity, Shishido gestured that he wanted to change positions. He liked it better this way; on his hands and knees, ass in the air seemed to work best for when he wanted it rough—but Choutarou liked to see Shishido’s face, and Shishido was awfully close to the edge, now.  
  
When they’d settled into something reasonably comfortable, with Choutarou bent over, holding Shishido behind the knees, Choutarou took up his racehorse pace again, driving blindly, relentlessly, ferociously into Shishido’s body.  
  
Choutarou could nearly rest his forehead against Shishido’s—he was so tall. He stared at Shishido, gauging his need, his eyes fiery. “More?” he grunted.  
  
“More,” Shishido gasped. He clutched Choutarou’s shoulders, dug his fingers in. “More—harder,” he begged.  
  
Choutarou gritted his teeth, leveraging himself to plunge into Shishido’s ass even harder, his hips pistoning wildly.  
  
Shishido threw his head back and keened, Choutarou’s face a picture of fierce concentration as he continued to thrust until Shishido had spent himself.  
  
Shishido let Choutarou rock him, bury himself in Shishido’s body. Choutaro let his head drop, his shoulders tight with the strain, his brows drawn in sweet agony. He wouldn’t let himself go—not until Shishido let him.  
  
Hiding a smile, Shishido ran a hand through sweaty silver hair. Choutarou’s cross swung between them hypnotically, periodically catching the light. “ _Shishido_ –” Choutarou mewled, a dulcet note of pleading threaded through his voice. “Shishido— _please!_ ”  
  
Shishido fisted his hand in Choutarou’s hair, pulled him close enough to kiss—little tastes, quick darts of tongue and sweeps of lip—until Choutarou was nearly writhing with need. “Please—please—please,” he chanted in a whisper.  
  
Finally Shishido took pity, smiling warmly, wickedly up at his doubles partner. “Now,” he purred.  
  
Choutarou’s hips seemed to stutter, then slammed home. He arched, head thrown back, the light catching his hair in a silvery halo, his cross standing out on his chest. Shishido caught his breath; all Choutarou needed was a pair of wings, stretched out toward the heavens.  
  
“Oh—Shishido-san,” Choutarou rasped, then collapsed, suddenly nothing more than a skinny, stringy, sweaty tennis-player who was all played out.  
  
Shishido nuzzled Choutarou’s hair, soft and warm against his cheek. “Thanks,” he said gruffly. “I feel better.”  
  
Choutarou pulled back to smile at Shishido as well. “I’m sure you passed your exam,” he said seriously. “After all, it’s like I said—you did know the material.”  
  
Shishido smiled back crookedly. “From top to bottom,” he agreed in a dry voice. “From top to bottom.”


End file.
